Rejecting Reality

I spend so much time wondering whether I should be ending it. No matter how many times I resolve to keep going until something changes, I keep on reverting back to asking myself why.

I think it’s that I don’t know how to accept and live with the reality I’ve created for myself. I don’t know how to be this person. There’s no real meaning to it for me. I’ve made any kind of connection with anyone impossible for myself. I’ve robbed myself of stakes. Nothing matters. Nothing is worth suffering for. Nothing makes it worth enduring the little things that torment me daily.

But what’s the rush? Things aren’t that bad. My discomfort isn’t agonizing. I’m able bodied. I can still absorb myself in distractions from time to time. Would it really be rational to end it now, when I still have some road ahead of me?

I do fear the choice being taken from me – an accident, or a violent act, leaving me disabled, unable to finish it. Unlikely, but it does happen. I have particular personal reasons to fear losing my freedom which I won’t go into. Things could get very bad indeed. But not likely, at the moment. Wise to be prepared to end it, but maybe not rational to go now.

But the thing is, I don’t want to live with this reality anymore. I don’t want to have to face it every day. I don’t want to have to make the effort. There’s nothing real here for me. There’s no goal, no purpose. Just keep on surviving until my parents are dead and I can off myself without feeling too bad about it.

It’s childish I know, but I just can’t bring myself to face this life. Putting myself through all that, for just…nothing.

I’m sure I can make a convincing case for myself that this world would be better off without me in it, which would offset any harm caused to family.

So…why aren’t I ending it? Why aren’t I at least making preparations? Perhaps I don’t really believe my judgement about my life’s meaninglessness. I cling to small moments of positive experience, as if they somehow justify the sea of emptiness and negativity. Can’t let go of those small moments. Can’t let go of being this person. Despite also hating being this person.

Can’t let go of memories. I think I was happy once, back when I was a child. I have the pictures, and I look happy, rather than the pained fake happy I sometimes affect now. Whatever happiness was. Lack of constant self-awareness perhaps.

Can’t let go of possibilities. Seemingly impossible possibilities. But while existence persists, so does possibility.

Really can’t bring myself to do that to my family, even if it was the right thing overall. Thinking about my parents having to deal with it…feels like such a shitty thing to do, after all they’ve done for me. But hey, I won’t be here to see it, so…no biggie?

I’m so incredibly, insanely lost. I do believe that there are some existences to which death would genuinely be preferable. I’m just not sure whether this is one of them. A lot of people would’ve offed themselves long ago in my circumstances, from the shame of it alone. But that would require a stronger sense of social morality than the one I possess.

I just keep getting this overwhelming feeling of not wanting to face this reality anymore. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be this. I want out. And there’s no hope of anything changing. This is as good as it gets. It’s all downhill from here. I just keep asking myself why. Why bother? What am I doing here? Just running down the clock, waiting for something truly awful to push me over the edge. I don’t know how to do it. There’s no meaning to it. What my motivation in this scene? Line?!